Though She Be But Little
by Karis Artemisia Judith
Summary: A fist crashed into Kristoff's chin. He'd let himself get distracted, he'd failed to pay attention to his balance, he'd let his guard down, and the uppercut knocked him backwards. He fell heavily onto his back, his head thumping against the floor, and lay there groaning. How had he let this happen?


A fist crashed into Kristoff's chin. He'd let himself get distracted, he'd failed to pay attention to his balance, he'd let his guard down, and the uppercut knocked him backwards. He fell heavily onto his back, his head thumping against the floor, and lay there groaning.

How had he let this happen?

It had started innocently enough. Kristoff had even been the first one to notice. It was only a month after the Thaw when he caught one of the guardsmen looking at Anna. She was oblivious, bouncing on her toes as she told him that Elsa had agreed to go _riding_ with her, for the _whole afternoon_, and wasn't that _wonderful_. He agreed that it was, grinning at her infectious enthusiasm, but over her shoulder he could see the guard at the gate watching with a rapt expression. When Kristoff pulled Anna to him for a hug he held her a little tighter and a little longer than was strictly necessary.

All of the castle guards seemed completely incapable of maintaining their stoic expressions when they saw Anna. They looked at her with grins, with soft puppy eyes, with awestruck expressions, and Kristoff did not understand it. He could understand wanting to stare at Anna—he wanted to stare at her himself, which was why it was so irritating to be constantly distracted by ogling guardsmen. He could understand why someone would look at her as if she hung the moon and stars, because as far as he was concerned she might have. But he knew for a fact that just a few weeks ago these same men had let the princess—and at the time she had still been _their_ princess—ride off into the snowy mountains, alone, at night, and not lifted a finger to do the guarding that was supposedly their job. They hadn't cared then, why were they panting at her heels now? And if they were all in love with her, as they seemed to be, why didn't they seem to mind Kristoff? He often got smiles and nods from the men on duty when he came to the castle. He never struck up conversations with them, but still the guards seemed to _like_ him.

He noticed other things, too—when Anna went out riding, there was always a gaggle of guards in the courtyard to see her off, and Kristoff realized that they drew lots to see who would get to accompany her, with the winners rushing to fetch their horses while the losers looked crestfallen. Kristoff didn't particularly care for horses, but he and Sven started to go with Anna as often as possible. When he was with her the guards always maintained the proper distance behind them, which he expected, but he also often caught them with enormous grins on their faces, which he did not. And they seemed just as anxious over the drawing of the lots whether Kristoff was going or not.

Kristoff had never thought of himself as a jealous man—he'd never had anything to be jealous _about_—but he didn't trust people. He certainly didn't trust other men, not with Anna. He found as many excuses to be with Anna as he could, and everywhere he looked there seemed to be men in uniforms with their eyes on the princess. _His_ princess. He took to standing closer to her than was completely proper, but that didn't stop the adoring glances that followed Anna. He started to keep his arm around her shoulders, then her waist, whenever he thought he could get away with it. That earned him disapproving stares from the older gentlewomen of the castle, and still did nothing to make the guardsmen keep their eyes to themselves. Finally he pointedly kissed Anna, right in the middle of the courtyard, where everyone could see—and out of the corner of his eye he saw the men nudging each other, grinning. Kristoff knew that he didn't have a lot of experience with the society of other people, but the vague impressions that he'd built up over years of overhearing gossip and observing the occasional bar fight told him that, whatever this was, it wasn't normal.

The entire situation was making him confused, and a little paranoid as he waited, watching like a hawk for the day that someone made inappropriate advances on Anna. He had very clear ideas about what would happen _then_, at least. But the day never came. Despite the stares and grins and calf eyes, none of the guards ever so much as winked suggestively. And then there was the day of the thunderstorm.

He'd tried to talk Anna out of riding that day, he _really_ had, but she'd insisted that they could get back before the rain started, and she'd smiled up at him, and he'd given in. He always gave in. Naturally they'd gotten trapped in the downpour. They were close to the fringes of town by then, and one of the two guards escorting them had ridden forward, awkwardly bowing in the saddle and yelling over the noise of the thunder and the pounding rain.

"Your highness, if I may—there's a place…it's very close, and you could wait out the storm indoors. It's a tavern, but I can assure you that you would be perfectly safe, and Mr. Bjorgman is with you, and…I think her majesty would understand—"

Kristoff wasn't sure how much Anna had understood, but she'd smiled at the guard, who looked as though he might faint as a result, and agreed before Kristoff could object to the very idea of Anna in a tavern. So they'd gone. And once they were inside, dripping all over the rough wooden floor, Kristoff realized why the guard had known about this place, and why he'd assured Anna that she would be safe there. The benches and tables were full of men, every one of them a member of the castle guard. Some of them were even in uniform. There was a shocked silence as all of the eyes in the room turned to look at them, and then a cacophony of furniture scraping the floor and benches being overturned as every man surged to his feet, bowing.

Anna was escorted to a seat by the fire, given someone's coat to wrap around her shoulders, given someone else's coat to spread over her knees, and someone was being sent to find tea, to bring a towel, to bring an actual blanket, to bring spiced wine. Kristoff, who was also given a chair by the fire but spared the indignity of being draped in coats, watched bemused as the roomful of armed men became a clucking herd of mother hens, fussing around Anna. Slowly, as the men babbled and stammered and fuss, an understanding began to piece itself together in Kristoff's mind.

Apparently when Anna had landed her spectacular punch on Hans' pointy nose she had not only knocked the bastar—ah, the devious prince into the fjord, she had earned herself the adoration of the entire royal guard. Most of them had been there to see it, and the rest had heard about it, repeatedly and in great detail. Princess Anna, as far as they were concerned, was their very own Joan of Arc. They called her _Princess Jeannette_, which meant 'little Joan' according to Pierre, who apparently had a French mother. They _doted_ on her. And Anna could not have been more delighted.

Kristoff could not have been more disconcerted. He wasn't sure whether to be amused or jealous, and instead he was a strange mush of emotion in between the two—he chuckled as the men competed to make Anna the most comfortable, but he also moved his chair close to hers, his arm resting behind her shoulders. And then it had happened.

"We would be delighted—we would be _honored_—if you would come and observe our boxing match!"

Boxing. Anna, watching boxing. Kristoff already knew he was going to regret it, but he also knew that he was going to go. After all, he couldn't tell the princess not to be in the training yard of her own castle. He could tell Elsa, of course, but...no, really no, he couldn't. Elsa hated to say no to Anna even more than Kristoff did, but she would probably feel that she had to, out of propriety. The sisters didn't have many arguments, because they were both still hesitant and delicate with each other, but the fights they _did_ have all seemed to be about propriety, and always ended with both sisters miserable. Anna would find him to cry on his shoulder, and if she could find him she would go and cry on Sven. If Sven and Kristoff were both gone Anna would curl up miserably in her room until they were back, often for hours. And Elsa was no better—after a fight with Anna, the queen would quietly go about her duties, but she would be on the lookout for Kristoff so that she could send him to Anna's room as soon as he arrived. And her eyes would be so heartbreakingly _sad, _and afraid, as if this time Anna might not forgive her. Kristoff didn't know how the castle staff has survived the years when the sisters were separated—seeing either of them upset was enough to destroy him. At least with Anna he knew how to gather her up in his arms and hold her close until she was done crying. He knew how to make her laugh. But as much as he'd come to care for Elsa (how could he fail to care about anyone that Anna loved so much? Anna's love was enough to make him feel almost affectionate toward the wretched tomcat that haunted the stables, and at least Elsa didn't leave claw marks on his sled) he was helpless to comfort her. Only Anna knew how to do that. No, a fight between the sisters would be unbearable.

And so he went with Anna to the boxing match, and watched her cheer and clap, delighted to congratulate winners and console losers and exclaim over blackened eyes and bloodied lips. He should have known better than to hope that it would be just the one time. Soon he found himself going to more matches with Anna, and then to observe the boxing drills, and then there was the fateful day when Anna asked if she could try hitting the practice dummy.

All he could do was sit back and watch, because this was Anna. Anna, who wanted to try everything, to experience everything, to climb trees and rooftops and mountains. Anna, who had tried to get him to let her harvest ice, and gods hadn't that been a disaster. Anna, who was making the practice dummy rock on its stand, and stopping in between each punch to laugh and clap her hands, bouncing on her toes. In the end Kristoff decided that watching wasn't so bad, because he was the one Anna looked at to share her delight, the one she sat next to on the bench and leaned against when she'd worn herself out, and all he could think about was how alive she was, how vibrant, how warm, and how much he loved her.

He did love her, he reminded himself. That was why he had agreed to spar with her.

There was no way that Anna was going to be allowed to grapple with the guardsmen—she didn't even ask. Punching the dummy, fine. Getting up every morning to punch the dummy, that was fine. Wearing loose trousers and one of Kristoff's old shirts with the sleeves rolled up so that she could do the drills that the guards did, also fine. Scandalous, but fine, as far as Kristoff was concerned. Everything was fine, as long as he was there to watch over her—and if he couldn't, it was still fine once he realized that the grizzled guard sergeant would personally peel the skin off of anyone who behaved inappropriately with the princess. Sergeant Keel and Kristoff exchanged understanding nods, whenever Kristoff had to leave. So all of that was fine.

Anna wrapped up in the personal space of sweaty young men who were aiming punches at her…was not fine. Not fine _at all_. Kristoff had seen Anna watching the sparring, seen her interest, seen her glance sideways at him…and then seen her decide not to even make the suggestion that she participate. But he had also seen her head tilt thoughtfully, and he knew he was in trouble.

He was in so much trouble.

"Come on! Pleeease? You don't have to try and hit _me_—" He actually recoiled at the very idea, stepping away from her and putting his hands behind him at the very thought of lifting one of them to strike her. The look of horror on his face didn't stop Anna from stepping closer to touch his chest. "I know you wouldn't ever hurt me," she said soothingly. "I'm not asking you to actually spar with me, I just want you to let _me_ try to hit _you_."

"_Why_?"

"Because…I just…" Anna spread her hands out, looking down at them. "It's _fun_. I like doing the drills and hitting the dummy, I like being _good_ at it. And it's not a princess thing, or something that I have to do, and it's _useful_, or it could be, sometime. And horses and archery and dancing are the only other physical activities I get to do—"

"Not the _only_—"

"Kristoff!" She smacked his chest lightly, grinning at him. "That doesn't count."

"Are you sure, because you work up just as much of a sweat—"

"_Kristoff!_" He scooped her up to hold her close, her snorting giggles muffled against his shoulder.

"What?"

"Princesses don't sweat," she said primly.

"They also don't box."

"They do now!" She squirmed out of his arms to stand back, her hands on his shoulder, looking up into his face. "Please? The captain said he knew a woman who might agree to teach me, so that I can learn grappling and arm locks, and I just want to practice with a moving target first, so that I'm used to it. Please?"

He really wished that he had found a way to say no.

"Oooooh no, oh no, I'm so sorry! Kristoff, are you okay? Say something!" Anna patted at his face, bending over him.

"I'm fine, I'm okay." He rubbed his chin. "Ow."

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to!"

Kristoff raised an eyebrow at her. "Really? You weren't trying to hit me while you were punching me?"

"You were supposed to dodge! Why didn't you dodge? Are you going to be okay? How many fingers am I holding up?"

"I'm _fine_, Anna, don't worry." Fine, except for the ache in his jaw and the swelling he could feel on the back of his head. "It was my fault, I got distracted. I'm fine. You got me, feistypants."

"I did?" She sat back on her heels, the anxious concern fading from her face as a proud smile dawned. "I did! I got you! I took you down!"

"Yeah you did." Kristoff chuckled, wincing at the pain in his jaw. "You sure did," he muttered, touching his chin gingerly. She'd hit him squarely, and caught him off balance. He decided not to tell her that he'd been noticing the way her overlarge shirt gaped over her chest, and how her breasts had moved beneath it with her breathing. He would _definitely_ not mention that. Not right now, anyway. Maybe later. She leaned over him to press a tender kiss to the bruise, and he caught her waist to tug her down onto the floor with him, pinning her to the rug with one arm. Her fingers slid through his hair as he bent to kiss her…and he hissed as she touched the aching knot at the back of his head. It hurt twice as much as his chin, and now it was throbbing.

"I'm sorry!" Anna scrambled up. "Come on, we should get some ice for your head. I'm _really_ sorry."

"It's okay," he said, letting her help him up. "It's really okay." She tugged him after her down the hall, and Kristoff followed, reflecting that she really had gotten him. She'd defeated him completely.


End file.
